Spared
by SeeklustXfindhate
Summary: Salome lives, when she has nothing to live for, and she won't take herself out of her misery until she finds out why she was put into it in the first place, and she could only find that out from the man, who ironically enough, never spares anyone. Tristan
1. Unmerciful

_Spared_

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own the characters, except for Salome, and possibly any new ones i introduce. The first two chapters, aren't entirely mine, as the place and event is based on the film.

Okay, hello, first fic in here! Alright, just a little backround, the first two chapters are based on the movie. The first chapter, is the first attack that the woads performed on the romans and the bishop, you know, when the knights came in. And the second chapter, will be the battle on badon's hill, only, Tristan will not die. Alrighty, here you are.

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Sparing someone, is a funny thing isn't? Because, really, who is the favor for? Is it to make the one with the upper hand feel better, feel all merciful? Or is it for the one on their knees, begging for a life, that would better be ended at that precise moment, even if the beggar doesn't seem to think so? How can one tell who deserves to be spared? And what exactly, gives a person that right?

It would of never occurred to Salome to look twice at the one that just fell to the ground. Throughout the years of fighting, she has learned not to look at the expressions the slain made when their life was just sliced out of them, because if she did, she would also think twice about killing the next. Her enemy's would call her ruthless and cold, by judging from the 'ease' with which she took life, but then again, they were the enemy, they blocked out any thought that related with her having any good in her. But to her people, they found her just one of the many heroes and heroines. All of them, looked up to each other, praising the fact that one another were strong enough, to accept their way of life, their fight for freedom.

She killed, one by one, two by two, any quantity she could to help the Britons rid the enemy. It was just a small attack upon the incoming romans, but still they took their chance to kill even a marcel of their entire empire. It only became a little challenging, when Salome not only had to watch ahead of her, but also her back, as she heard attackers ride in. She cleverly cleared herself a path in front of her, by slicing the roman to the ground, and once there was no more in front of her, she turned, and faced the new threat.

They weren't faces she haven't seen before. She even made up a game, of which one she would kill at their next meeting, for it kept her from getting bored. This time, it was a solitary man, who, like her, never had an expression on his face. She expected him to never have much of a smile, as he just seemed the type. But she didn't let herself get to curious or interested, and she just began to formulate a plan, of how she would get herself to him, across the field. She got it, she would kill by twos, and she pulled out the still bloody sword from it's holder, and she began to skillfully make her way across the field.

Without much a struggle, except from the chubby one who she barely escaped as he had became sidetracked, she found herself across from him, and tried her hardest not to become intimidated. When she made her intentions known by raising her swords, she inwardly felt like a little girl being teased as the man tilted his head, as if he were saying in his head ' Does this stupid girl really think she could beat me?'. But she stubbornly stood her ground, with her head high, and her eyes transfixed on his, returning the glare. She thought she had him figured, and she thought he had a weakness, but to her, in her eyes, he did something very unlikely. He smirked. The bastard smirked...the bloody git smirked...and somehow, this was more intimidating than those black glossy eyes that he so intently stared at her with. Salome found herself a bit spooked, and she felt like crawling into a corner and huddling up for a brief second, but then, she remembered her goal, her life's 'purpose', and she egged him on, by blowing a little sweet kiss to him, which he raised his eyebrow to, but yet, took it as an invitation.

Tristan was the first to advance, and as an instinct, Salome backed up, readying herself to finally end this tricky game. It wasn't until the metal of their swords clanked, that the game got it's thrill back . Next thing she knew, she was hopping along the battlefield, dodging and swinging swiftly, as if Tristan was the threat to run from. But he wasn't...He didn't chase after her, but he rather calmly, approached the one on one battle, and posed it as no challenge. What? A scrawny little girl could kill him? What did she know about fighting? But she provoked him, and made his patience draw out, and soon, he couldn't wait to be glad of the riddance. Instead of just blocking, he began to swing at her, and swing after swing, they became more clever and spiteful. And at one point, he even scratched her face with the tip of his sword that was meaning to aim for the neck.

It wasn't long until he managed to knock her to the floor, and as she scrambled for her sword, He had his mind set on just swiping his blade across her back and calling it a day. However, she had other plans. Seeing that Tristan was closer than she thought, she decided to distance him by giving him a swift kick into the stomach, just for him to fall back a little. It worked half way successfully, as it did allow her to grab her sword...but it gave others the false sense that they had to intervene. Arto jumped not as her aide, but as her shield, and when Tristan pushed his sword forward, he realized it was a different opponent, but still continued the motion that didn't stop until he felt it plunge into the man that got in the way.

Salome froze stiff, and it wasn't from the shock of the blade also being two inches deep into her own flesh, but the fact that it was Arto, who unceremoniously began to sink to the ground as the blade withdrew. When Salome felt the cold ice metal exit her flesh, she immeadietly put her hand to her stomach, but before she could feel her own blood, she felt another. Arto, fell into her arms, knocking her back as his weight dropped onto her. She allowed fro her head to smack against the ground, but she quickly rose back up, whimpering in pain as her wound stretched and then squeezed closed as she hunched her back so she could be over his body. She wasn't crying because of the stinging pain in her abdomen, but she found tears because of the pain of her heart tearing into two. She tried to open her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She couldn't find the right ones to say, and before anything else but studders could escape her bloody lips, she ran out of the time, as his ears died out along with his breath.

When everything went silent in her ears and everything around her seemed to become still, she looked up ,defenseless, expectently, and acceptantly. She was pratically giving herself up for slaughter.

Tristan, raised his eyebrows when she didn't fight back, and they scrunched in question as it looked as if she were looking up at him, pleading with her tear filled eyes. He raised his sword to see, if that was what she was afraid of, but she didn't flinch. She just looked up, and watched the sword as he swang it threatingly, trying to make her at least blink. But no, all she did was stare up at him, with big brown tear filled dyes, hair blowing across her face, and her palms, raised up to the sky, with blood pouring from them as she allowed the blood that she cupped to finally go.

He kept his questionable expression at her, as if she would tell him what she wanted him to do. He knew he had the chance, to swipe his blade across her neck, it wasn't like she shielded herself from it now, but was it intentional? Did she let her guard down for a reason? It had became clear what she wanted, when she first made the motion proving that she was in fact, still alive. She blinked...and then lowered her gaze from the sky to landing Tristan squarely in the eye, and she just said it in her head.

_'do it. Just do it. Run you sword across me, and just let me hit the ground'_

Tristan stood there, the hidden stupified feeling slowly exiting. He now knew what she wanted...and she was pratically offering herself to his sword, so why refuse? It was an easy kill, and easy riddance...she just sat there like a good little girl. But...he found himself lowering his sword...and slowly backing away, and for no rational reason in his head , he turned, and dimissed her execution.

_'You heartless bastard'_ she thought in her head, as he abandoned her and her yearning. '_Why didn't you do it...'_


	2. Perfect

_Spared_

PART TWO

I know I said that this chapter was going to be on Badon's hill, I decided to squeeze in one more scene before it that may or may not be more than one chapter. So i can't give you the exact placement of the plot, you will just have to use the clues i give within the chapters to see where it is at.

_She sat in the damp corner opposite of the body that rot day after day, right across her. The stench was unbearable, but after three straight days of bearing it, it became just a faint annoyance. It was the sight, that disturbed her, made her toss and turn in the small blink of sleep that she received. Without sleep, or any type of entertainment, she only had her mind to fine salvation in. But, her own thoughts were driving her mad. She had too much time to think, too much time to analize the smallest details, and as the days drew on, the newly gained knowledge, pushed her closer and closer to the edge of her insanity. Too much thinking could be bad for a person, and in her case, it was her worse enemy. All her thoughts, were only dark, morbid memories or plans, causing the hatred to grow within her. A couple more days in the cell, and she would truly go on a rampage. With so much time in her hands, she even thought of Scenarios. If he let her live, because he thought her life valuable, she would kill him for ignorance, and then kill herself. If he let her live because he thought she had something to live for, she would kill him for stupidity. If he let her live, just to smirk at her misery, she, in a fit of rage, would tear him limb from limb, slowly allowing him to slip into death...and then take her own life with a clean blade._

_She knew what was happening too, and she knew the right alternative, 'just end it all, leave it all behind ' , but she couldn't find herself doing that. She couldn't tighten the grip around her throat until she found out why he allowed her to live, just so she could end up in this cell, rotting away. She even promised herself, that she would go through anything and everything, keeping herself alive just to get that answer from him. And she must of been pretty damn determined, because by now, a person without no one to go home to, nothing to do but think about a world that was already spoiled for them, would have slipped peacefully away. But she would not let go, she would not **take the easy way out**.(Just yet). She needed just to suffer a little while longer, to find out that one thing, so then, she could take his and her life at ease._

Salome snapped her eyes open alert as she was disturbed by banging sounds just near the door, past the staircase. She listened contently for a moment, ceasing when she heard voices beggining to trail from within. She gave a leftward glance to the cell across, to see if it was just her. But it wasn't, Gunivere was also alert. They caught eachother's eye only once, until both pairs of eyes became interested in the 'newcomers'.

However, the men the voices sounded familiar...couldn't be newcomers, because if they were, their voices would be shaken, but the voices that entered, were confident. Guinivere thought nothing of it, she was hopeless, and she stood curled in the corner. Salome, however, became extremly curious and hopeful, and she began to finally break the stiffness at her limbs by leaning to her left, bending her arms out of their cradling position, and gripping to the bars. When her grasp was firm, she pulled in her weak body, and put her head to the bars, waving her arms wildly, in desperiety.

She waited upong freedom, anticaptedly, just waiting for whomever it was, to open those gates, so she could spring out and run around like a wild animal, even if it would be running like a clumsy calf. She became rather impatient, as they were stalling by observing the place. '_like this place deserves a marveled stare'_ Salome thought bitterly as she began to smack her hand against the floor, not ceasing until she saw a pair of feet approach her cell.

She stopped in satisfaction, and moved herself a bit back, giving room for the gate to break in or out. She already put herself in a crouching position, so when the gate was open, she could fly out like a bored bird with need of space and exploration.

Salome didn't hesitate at all, she didn't even give a second glance at Guinivere to see if she was receiving the same assistance, and she exited out of there so quickly, that she fell over her own feet. She knew it, she just knew it. She wouldn't be able to walk, she couldn't even stand up without it hurting, and she couldn't help but actually become dependent for a second, as she grasped a random man's shoulders, for support. She, like no occassion before, actually trusted the man for a split seconds with the task of not dropping her, but when she looked up, and finally saw the face of the form that held her in his arms, she flew back, smacking against another. She whipped around, as if the presence behind her was _him_, but when she saw it wasn't, she felt dissapointed. She would have to wait longer...

She looked as if she were a crazy woman, haunted by the visions of ghosts, looking in alarm in every single direction as if she were expecting to see a glimpse of them. One tried to comfort her, but she wouldn't allow it. She didn't want to be touched by anyone, especially her enemy since the birth of her people, especially if it wasn't _him._ Oh, yes, she wanted _him_ to touch her, just so she could transmitt her pain to him, like ligtning to a tree, her being the lightning. And she saved that pain upon her flesh, inside her gut, not to be tainted by anyone's feel but _his_.

After she viewed every face, saw that none of them was him, and she began to feel that she was needlessly lingering in a place where, she obviously did not want to be. So, summoning her running skills that pretty much were like a fawn's stride, she _ran toward the light that came from the doorway._

She tripped over the stairs multiple times, feeling the brusing of her knees and shin every time they smacked upon the ground, each time, becoming a little more discouraged, so that by the time she actually made it to the outside, she fell flat on her face, and didn't even bother to get back up. She was exhausted, finally worn out, and she could only manage to lift her head and move her hands out of the way of stomping horse hooves.

She looked up, with the dirtiest look on her face as if she were about to mouth off to the stranger, but when her eyes focused against the sunlight, and on the person hismelf, her mouth shut and her face expression dropped. This only occurred, as she had to stir up her other rage, the rage that has been waiting just for _him_. Her eyes became a deadly black, and her mouth was filling itself up with the venom that rested within her throat for quite a while. But when she tried to expel it, nothing shot out. Not one drop of green poision. It had dried out...her voice was gone. She began to desperatly clear her throat, trying to remove anything that may have been blocking, but nothing, only a scrathcy irritation from within, and a frustration, that built her rage even more.

Since she couldn't throw out anything to tear this man down, she decided that maybe a rude hand gesture, or maybe a strike would suit, but before she could even lift herself up, she was picked up from someone behind her, and began to be carried off. She tried to move her body...but it was still out, the malnutrition, lack of sleep and exercise, finally had gotten to her. She just stopped all struggling, and just peaked over her enemy's shoulder, and just watched _him_ fade in the little distance.

Tristan had looked at her as if he had never seen her before, and a bewilderment snuck up behind him as he noticed the way this woman looked at him. He was somewhat enlightened when he noticed a mark that circled around just above her hips. It was a tie to the woads...so obviously she was a woad. But she couldn't be looking at him in a dark way just because he was the enemy...because Gawain just scooped her up and she didn't put up a fret. So it had to be personal. He pondered upon it for a second, until he put two and two together. The markings...dark brown eyes filled with hatred and sorrow...he recollected his thoughts...and finally, came to a fault

_'Well this is just a lovely little coinicdence'_ he thought sarcastically to himself.

He took one last glance at her, and as soon as his gaze met her flesh, the sight was immeadietly transported to that day on the battlefield, him being able to see her hurt expression once more in his head, and then finished with '_Yes, very lovely'_.

That's it lovelys!

Please review!


	3. Cold

Salome watched Guinevere darky. '_Such a hypocrite'_ she thought to herself. Her mind flashed back to a short time before, where Guinevere would speak of the freedom she and her people were deprived of. Then Salome's mind flashed back to now, were Guinevere allowed a roman, the wife of the man that captured them to add to that, to bathe her. She didn't understand how Guinevere allowed it, such corrupted hands that went over her back with a cloth, but then again...Salome didn't understand a lot of things that either resided outside her boundary of woods, or little battlefield. She didn't understand the ways of others...how someone could resist the opportunity to feel someone at the end of their sword, and walk away without a victory. She didn't get their culture, she didn't get _him._

She sat their half the night, just observing him from afar. She squinted to see him in the distance, and she tilted her head to the right in thought whenever he opened his mouth. What kind of words came out of that mouth? Were they vile and spiteful? She bet they were, after all, as she was taught, words do tell a lot about their beholder. She then put her head in and upright position, studying how he hid his eyes behind his dark hair. Why was this? Did he cover his black eyes on purpose? Or did the strands fall perfectly over his eyes by accident, and he just didn't bother to uncover them?

Despite her hate for him, she found his being interesting, and when she was deep in thought, it came as a suggestion, 'Why not spare him too? Let him live, do not perform your revenge on him'. She reasoned with herself. 'Well, if you were to spare him, you'd be just like him, a victory less fool. And besides, it's not just for you, it's for Arto. Yes, he would agree with you to do this.' And it became final. She was simply, going to kill him, and then finally end her own life. In her mind, she morbidly thought of the many ways to run her sword through him and how she was going to run the same sword through herself after. But, before she could actually pin down the way she was going to kill him and herself, she had to remind herself before she got to ahead. 'You need to speak to him first, find out why he spared you. Then, kill him afterwards'. After she reminded herself, the feeling of disappointment fell through her. She couldn't kill him that night, she couldn't take that opportunity, that may have been once in a lifetime, and it threw a blow at her gut, and she squirmed in frustration. 'Well, do you really need to know?' she thought...trying to find a reason to throw away the burden that stood between her, and her satisfaction. 'Yes...the explanation is needed' she finalized. She ended the deciding, and just began to sulk with the fact that it couldn't be done that night.

Exiting her daze and becoming reacquainted with the world around her, she noticed two feet peaking at her through the bottom of a dress, and when she looked up it was Guinevere, smiling warmly down at her. Despite Salome's mixed feelings for her long-time friend, she returned the smile.

"How are you holding up? The Scout told me you lost your voice, is it true?" Guinevere asked concerned as she kneeled down next to Salome and put her warm hand over her throat.

Salome nodded her head, not knowing the significance of the name, and pardoning Guinevere with sharp questioning looks.

"So you are ill then? Is it just your throat that bothers you?" Guinevere asked as she began to place her hand in random spots, trying to see if Salome's flesh would answer the question for her. "Your hot. Oh, you, prone to all the illnesses" Guinevere finished sympathetically, with her hand resting over Salome's forehead.

"Do you want to go home now?" Guinevere asked considerately, taking her hand off Salome's forehead and using it to push herself up into a crouched position as she was getting ready to rise.

Salome nodded her head eagerly, and began to rise herself until Guinevere pushed her back down.

"No, only one of us can go first, and it is to be me. I am brining Merlin here, and after Merlin is done speaking with Arthur, he'll take you home" Guinevere said in a whisper.

Salome looked at her questionably, letting Guinevere know, that she wanted more explanations.

"We can't both go now, it'll be suspicious." Guinevere said, intending for that to be the end of the conversation. But Salome stressed strongly, that she wanted to know more.

"Look, The Scout has he eyes on us right now as we speak. He's been looking over here the whole time, even before I came. He is very untrusting to our kind, so he is suspicious at everything" Guinevere finished, finally allowed to rise.

The reason for Salome's no need for more explanation, was because she became sidetracked. What Scout? Who was this scout? She looked from face to face, searching the faces, expecting for one to be staring back. But none. Nothing was peculiar except that maybe _he_ was missing, but big deal. And when Salome was about to ask the question through her silent signals 'Who?', Guinevere already had her back to the camp, and was already departing swiftly to go fetch Merlin.

Salome turned, dumbfounded, still looking around with a confused expression. Who was staring at her? She spent the next few moments, scanning face to face, non stop, until, she found her eyes fluttering closed, drifting her into a sleep...

Salome woke up, two hours after her eyes shut, with a new found warmth around her. She drowsily looked down, and noticed a cloak around her. She straighten herself up quickly into a sitting position, and only became alarmed when she noticed a pair of boots, standing before her.

She clutched the snow with her hands, and she nailed her mouth shut as she clenched her jaws. Her eyes narrowed, and he took the invitation to speak.

"You looked cold" he said in a toneless manner.

But this didn't explain anything, it didn't explain why he thought he had the nerve to stand there, and in a fit of rage, Salome kicked the cloak off of her, and scooted back as far as she could, which was only an inch, since the tree gave her no leeway.

Tristan smirked, he figured she would do this. He picked up the cloak in the cold casual manner that drove Salome crazy.

"fine then, freeze" he simply stated, his voice seeming like he didn't give a damn if she did freeze.

He flung the cloak over his arm, and he stood there, arms crossed, looking down at her in a studious manner.

"You were trying to speak to me earlier. But, as earlier, it is evident that your voice has been lost. Has it returned yet?" Tristan asked gruffly. Even if he was intending to sound concerned, it would have certainly failed right when it entered in Salome's, cause all she was seeing was red, all she was hearing, was a irritating static sound.

Salome stood silent, and frozen, a million things running in her head to do, and not one being rational.

"Fine, I will assume it hasn't. I'm sure a feisty one, such as yourself, would of thrown out a lot of words by now" Tristan said in a cold tone.

In return to his idiotic comment, Salome decided to show him just how much the blood was running through her veins, in a manner that would not send him to the floor dead. So she scooped up the snow that was in her hand, and she threw it full force into his face.

Salome didn't intend to test his temper with her act, but she just wanted to show him her hatred. However, it winded up doing what she hadn't meant to do.

In one quick motion, before Salome could get herself out of his arms reach, he gripped her by the throat and pulled her up. He looked behind him, to see if anyone was watching, but they were all attending their own business. When he turned back, he faced her, who was wheezing for air, and found himself loosening his hold. She broke out into a series of gruff coughs that hurt her throat greatly, and she dropped to the ground from the force of the cough.

When she finally caught her breath, she looked up halfway, and saw him kneeling before her.

He didn't apologize, which was an act that Salome actually thought what he was doing.

"When you get your voice back, we will talk about that day" he said as he got back to his feet.

Salome crunched her eyebrows, and she wished that she could voice to him, that, that opportunity, may never come again, but before she could actually attempt to signal that to him, or miraculously tell him, Guinevere slid in from behind the tree.

"He's here to take you home, come now" she said as she helped Salome up. She didn't really focus on The Scout that was standing right next to them anymore, seeing that the commander was now aware that Merlin was there. There was no need for caution. When Salome was up to her feet, Tristan understood the worried look that Salome had just given him. "Another time will come" he said simply. Guinevere froze, not understanding, and not knowing whether it was for her or not. Guinevere was enlightened however, when Salome dismissed herself, by walking ahead. It must of been to her. Guinevere gave one uneasy look to Salome, and then Tristan, and was about to precede after Salome to bid her good-byes, but she was quickly called back.

"Here, give this to her" Tristan said in hardly a whisper, handing Guinevere the cloak.

Guinevere looked at it in surprise, then at him, nodding her head in dismissal. She scurried to Salome's side, throwing the cloak over her shoulders, catching Salome herself off guard. But, she accepted it, and she gave a expressionless glance back at _him_, who had his back to her as he made his way back to the center of camp.

That's it! Please Review


	4. Freedom's' Eve

The village was filled with nothing but memories, of a past that seemed so haunting that it was practically reliving every day. That grave over there, was the exact place where he first kissed her. That house, that empty sorrowful house with dirt floors, rings with the laughter of a missed Family. Everything was painted everyday, with the renewal of grief.

"The Poor Girl" the women muttered. Some even stated Salome's most inner thoughts "She has nothing left on this earth, the poor soul" but then others contradicted the sad fact. "She has her people"

Yes, her people, and their freedom to fight for. But it was almost won, the Roman Empire was coming to an end, everyone knew it. The Romans were leaving Briton soon. So what then? Everything she's been fighting for all her life, would be safe and settled. What family did she have to enjoy freedom with? Arto's family didn't even count now in her mind, with him gone, the future connection to his family, was invalid. She viewed herself as solitary, with her people breathing down her back to be happy, but without the family to support such an emotion.

"Salome!... Salome!" A man's voice called out. The voice was trailing all over the village, in an obvious search for the silent woman that would give no response, so that really there was no point in calling out her name.

She didn't show herself, but curled onto the ground, the rise of the grave being her cover. She felt like a child, playing hide and go seek, ironically, the game she used to play with the man interred in the ground next to her.

"Still, she does not speak?" the man asked in a undertone to a village woman, witnessing the search.

"No, she doesn't voice out anything. Her thoughts, or whereabouts..." the woman said with a sad look on her face.

"How long will this illness be fallen upon her?" he asked concerned.

"That is the thing... the medicine woman said that the fever has already been lifted, due to her remedies and directed bed rest."

"Then how is it she is still silenced?"

"I don't know..."

"This is getting ridiculous. If she is healed, she is to act normal and speak" he commanded

"I too. It is only Guinevere who thinks that she should be left silent."

The man grunted.

"And why would she think something like that? Her tongue is not cut out"

"Yes, but Guinevere sides with Salome. When the time comes, she will speak on her own." the woman said, quoting exactly what Guinevere said.

"And why hasn't the time come? There have been plenty of times. I've been on her for a week, calling out for her, trying to finally get her to clean the blood off her swords. Not only is she silent, but she's slipping from her everyday life and tradition."

"That's another thing...Guinevere pardons Salome's actions of withdrawal...she says they are understandable, and that if Salome doesn't want to speak, she shouldn't, after all, she has no one important enough to speak to" the woman said, hoping for her equal not to shoot the messenger.

"All her people are important enough, and she has been silenced around all of us. It is unacceptable, and when I get my hands on that girl, she will finally break her voice free or it will be her tongue and then she'll really be silenced for good" the man said in frustration.

"Guinevere suggests we leave her be." the woman said.

"Yes, well Guinevere is not here. We are saving a girl from being lost, that is all. Her voice is influential to our people, she who has suffered so much loss. Her whole family gone for our freedom, and still she fights. If _she_ is silenced, there is no more hope, and we are so close to victory."

"Yes, but shouldn't a heroine of our people be treated with space?" the woman asked sympathetically.

"We are a tribe raging a war for our benefit, we need to be tied tightly together, whenever was there space? All we are, are Warriors, and we were put into silence enough, which is why we fight. We, don't need anymore silence. We need our war cries heard".

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The scream of a great pain still echoed in his ears, as her blurred image rocked back and forth through the reflection of his sword. This woman plagued his dreams last night, and she still spread throughout his mind during the day. The pain depicted from the dream and image itself, was so strong that it broke through his cold exterior and actually got to him on the inside. He felt panic, pain, loss, and a certain attraction to the girl who's face wasn't completely clear. The blurred image seemed of great beauty. The reason why he couldn't stop thinking about it. Almost as if it was a trap.

Tristan ran his fingers over the smooth silver blade, ridding any missed dried specks of blood or dirt. It was time to finally put his sword away for a while, which was a heartbreak within itself. No more fighting...what to do next.

It was lonesome in the stables, but the feeling was nothing new to the scout. It did not bother him one bit. If anything, he would feel uncomfortable if it was filled. He enjoyed the solitary feeling around him. His thoughts were his own personal company which he rather appreciated, since after all, they were controlled by him.

He continued to lead his thoughts into the path of what would come next in his life. If he should continue the path to the black rode, or if he should seek a little light. But every time a solution became a solid suggestion, he was distracted. His thought trail kept twisting on him, straight into the direction of that dream. He ran his fingers through his black braided hair, to calm himself down and regain the control, but wasn't able to. The image, dream and reoccurring thoughts that followed, must of been from another force, because there was no way he could pause or stop them. The dial control wasn't under his fingers, and it frustrated him to no end.

He got to his feet, and decided to walk it off. Surely something outside of the solitary stable would distract him enough. It upset him a bit that he had to break out of his reverie in order to fix his head, but it had to be done or else he would slam his head through a door to rid the annoying thoughts that kept coming.

As soon as he slid the doors open, indeed did he become distracted. It seemed all the villagers were out in their small village square between the palace and Hadrian's wall. He worked his way through the crowd, preferably not speaking to anyone but his knights.

His mouth was not opened until his climbed the stairs onto the wall. There, the vast Saxon army, and the thought if he would stay to fight or leave, had become his greatest distraction.

The dream's elements did not return.

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The wall separated the north from the south. Even with the Saxons south of the wall, the presence on an enemy became known through the unceasing noise from the Roman village and beyond. The gifted, only sensed something was wrong.

When the only beholder of solid news came north of the wall, her village was filled with anticipation to hear it.

Guinevere stood silent until she spoke with Merlin, it was then they made their way to the center of the village.

"The Saxon has arrived" Merlin announced.

The response was different than that if it were Romans that arrived for battle. This response contained a small amount of fear in their silence. However, fear only silenced them for a second, as their bravery soared, and soon, their cries were of masked excitement for the coming day.

"We will lead a vast attack, but under a different leader." Guinevere informed.

The village grew silent in puzzlement, looking from Guinevere and Merlin for an explanation.

"Arthur, will lead you in this battle" Merlin said, reading their confusion.

The village questioned and muttered a bit, but did not dare to disagree with their leader up-front.

"What of the Sarmatian Knights?" a young man asked, catching the particular attention of Salome.

"They are no longer in service. They are free to go home. It's most unlikely they would want to stay to fight _our_ battle to protect_ our_ land." Guinevere said truthfully.

Salome's interest, guiltily dropped. The excitement of Freedom was now theirs. But what of her freedom to come? Without _him_ dying at her hands, she couldn't set her soul free to wander...


	5. Let us Prepare for a New

"You, you've done so much for your people already. You lived, you Fought, you've endured. If today would be the end, it would end in Honor."

This came from a past warrior. He didn't die, where is his honor? Salome found herself pensive on this as his voice bellowed through the hut, where those able to fight entered to get their final blessing. Salome was just passing through, she had no intention in lingering for his pointless words of hope. She's always found them pointless and hypocritical. Their great leader Merlin, even once was a warrior, and no death was bought upon him, yet he is at such a honorable stature. Leader.

Salome realized this recently. Now It was revealed why she truly fought. For her own honor, she didn't' need people to remind her of it. It was rightfully gained, let them praise her for it, but let them not dare, to say it was because she died in agony. She would rather live in life with honor, not die for it.

However, things have changed. Ideals, once pressed in her head, faded leaving not even the slightest print. She let her self go. Her life, would be left behind as she walked out that village. She would fight at her own rules. The ultimate purpose was to deliver her people, she still respected that, but now, instead of the broader outlook that everyone was trained to see, she selfishly took her own purpose for this battle. Within it, she will be searching for any outlet, any excuse, at the very end to let herself go. Therefore, she fought for her people, no betrayal there, let them be happy.

But also, let herself be happy as she knew she helped get them there, and that she would then, have permission to go.

This thinking during the night before, led her to rushing through the process of preparation. She was desperate to have her feet pressed on that battle field. Before, she rather enjoyed being painted while reminded where she was going, why. Before, it pumped her adrenaline, and made her cry out war. Now it was just a hold back.

Paint her blue for identification, paint her in runes for protection, define the tattoo around her hips to remind her place in their grandest victory, but until the coffin is ready, do not waste the time.

When she was dressed for distraction, when she was painted to properly be given the name that separated her from the rest, when she was protected by a protection she wished not to have around her yet she had to accept, when her band around her hips was highlighted in black, she left that village behind. All the memories, pains, smiles, losses, gains, left behind. She left her home to join a new.


	6. Not allowed

Straight, beyond the wall, the waited to be let in. She viewed the Roman Commander riding in the distance. He must of provoked them as their drums seemed even louder than ever before. She kept her arms down, until commanded to raise them. She found herself impatient, but kept still with discipline. The bow was tightly gripped in her right hand as the arrow was held I n place by the left. She had everything set. She was ready to raise and release.

She kept focused on those gates. Nothing phased her. She was ready, and frankly growing annoyed with the hold up.

"Listen. Beyond those gates, like the enemy, that we all know, outnumber us."-

Salome listened to the voice of the Roman commander without trouble. She never let her eyes waver their direction, she kept them on those gates, just waiting to be released already.

"-But hope if given, when we add seven more. My brothers, are here for the fight, to align with you, and go against that large enemy-"

Salome blinked as she released her arrow that she was gripping to the ground in distraction. Her focus left as she stared wide eyed at the commander, then accusationally at Guinevere who pressed his instruction.

"Me and my men, will strike them thrice, within the smoke to disorient them. After each strike, we will ride toward the gates, while we are still going in that direction, you will release your arrows at Guinevere's example. When we return, wait until we are stationed to release again. You will release even after our charges, until Merlin decides to put in his contribute. After they set the oil on fire, the army will be divided. That is when we strike. This is the general idea of our battle, watch their movements and improve if any plans go ruined. Be ready. They will release."

The gates began to open as the army began to file in. Before Arthur rode to join his men in the smoky distance, Salome noticed the number to be small.

"They submitted a part. We will stick to the plan. Shoot the arrows, save the warrior's release until Merlin's signal. He knows to wait until the full army comes in." Arthur noted to Guinevere before he rode off.

Guinevere nodded. Salome noticed the affection between the department, and found herself disgusted. It went unnoticed as Guinevere stationed herself next to Salome, who was still giving her a cold stare. If she only knew how she interfered with Salome's plan.

Salome blinked away from her visions and thoughts as Guinevere made her example for the rest to follow. Salome took a deep breath as she lifted up her own bow and new arrow to be set with flame. She had to refocus. She couldn't' think of the given opportunity. No. And she kept the tempting action out of her thoughts by returning to her war mode. Where no second thoughts lingered in her mind. Only to kill the enemy.

Only now, she had to re-wire in her mind which one. Now she was facing two. The grand army she would need all her focus on to help eliminate, and The single man, where too, she would have to place all her focus, but with that focus, Her hatred. Just to feel the satisfaction of his death.

Which one was more dangerous, phased her for a moment. A great number was intimidating, but a personal reason held more weak points within herself.

She had to detach herself. Or her knees would give in on the battlefield. Right then and there, she had to select the enemy. She chose Saxon. She couldn't become distracted with his presence. It was rightful that her blade would only hit their flesh, it was practical, it would win the fight. If she survived with the Saxon number low, then she would allow herself to feel him fall under her blade. Patience would have to satisfy again.

Unlike before, Salome found herself more prone to live. Since it was after now, she would have to wait to take her prize.

_Her chest lifted and fell. Her eyes focused, her pupils narrowed. Her blood rushed, her body stilled. Everything was set_. She was the _warrior_ since birth instead of the **murderer **she was tempted to become. _She was patient, collected, and ready. She cleared her throat and released._

The moans of men from far away informed her that her hit was successful. Somewhere, out in that field, a man died at her arrow. The number count began. **She couldn't wait to get her hands on her two swords.**

She repeated the practice of releasing, as the moans continued until finally, the last died out. Silence. The gates opened to invite more chaos to come for the ambush. Salome felt the yearn for her feet to move forward from that drawn line. Her feet slipped twice, she was reprimanded by skeptical looks twice. Guinevere noticed her thrill for more. Guinevere noted in her head how her child-hood friend seemed **more eager than before**, but she held no suspicions to back up Salome's behavior. Perhaps to win this last fight.

Sooner then expected, the time for the arrows ran out. Their army was divided and finally, finally, they were released. Finally, she was unleashed. She met them head on, **the yearn to feel her blade collide with flesh and bone, became more pronounced, and when the collision occurred, it was more satisfying then ever. It calmed her twisted nerves that only wanted more, more, more**

By ones, by twos, **by fours**. She was unstoppable. She ducked, she plunged, she slashed, she sliced,** she tortured by twisting her blades within their bodies, she ended lives by ridding their heads**.

And it all alright in her mind, even the practices, she's never pulled on a battlefield. She was being unprofessional, as her peers would say. They knew her fighting, **never did she linger to watch them drop. Never had she listened closely to the moans of death**. In this battle, if they would look closely, it would be seen by the ones who knew her.

But one, even noticed without living in her village, without being painted blue, without knowing her past. He saw the murderer, it was like looking in a mirror. But unlike himself, hers was unexpected. He's noticed in past fights, her fighting technique. It was quick and to the point. Now he noticed her lingering a bit longer. He noticed her searching eyes. He found himself drawing closer to her presence. Tristan knew what she wanted.

**Salome's viciousness continued. Her breathing became more rapid by every body that hit the floor. The thrill was overpowering. It made the swords seem lighter, but the reality harder to believe.** **She was looking for blood. The ones that came in her way, were just the unlucky ones. **She was no longer a _warrior_. She became that **murderer**. **Grudges, Feelings, Hatred, was all attached, and her anger fueled her will to carry on.**

Body through Body, they found their way toward each other.

She had him in her eyes view. She focused on the Saxon she was butchering to the ground by constantly wedging both her swords in him from each side, then found herself looking at the corner of her eye.

Tristan at this point found himself staying put as Saxons noticed his threat to their number and all gained on him to put him down. Salome shortly found herself with this problem, but with her swiftness she quickly slashed her way through one kind of her enemies. She did not so focus on their moans or blood now as her main conquest was in view. She thirsted for his.

She collided with the three Saxons that Tristan found himself backing up from to strategize. She surprised them from behind by taking down one. Her apparent aid to the Sarmatian by taking down the Saxon, only attracted more to come. Tristan knew better that her coming as an aid, and he adapted his mind to taking on four, six when two more came to the scene with the idea to put their army's enemies down.

Salome's senses were so blurred with the excitement from her near satisfaction, that she could not tell that two were coming from behind.

She instead focused herself on the first swing with the both of her swords toward his end as if it were an art. She skillfully swerved them so they would strike his side at such a way, that they wouldn't stop until it was deep within. She then planned to twist both from within before pulling out. Before they even went through it's half point, Tristan half heartedly blocked both and succeeded even though his focus was at the upcoming Saxons behind her. She drew back her swords and rounded them once more for another attempt. Before she drove her arm forward from the side, he moved forward catching her by surprise, finding her surprise to be the perfect time to disarm her. With her disarmed he could get her out of the way from being taken by surprised and killed. When her swords slipped out of her hands by the force his sword put onto both, he drew closer and gripped onto her throat, then driving her around behind him, where he threw her body down with enough force to make the grass feel like brick beneath her head.

Just as a brick would of done, it collided with the back of her head hard enough so that she only had enough time to take in one last image of the world around her before it faded out. She only was able to catch him glancing at her until everything went black.

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She was left disoriented, deaf and blind as she rose from the ground. Everything came flashing at once, explaining why she was rising from the ground In the first place. According to the replay in her head, Tristan purposely put her out of the way. But then, how was she ever rising from the ground in the first place.

The pain In the back of her head made her entire head feel pressured as it rose from the ground, and she found it weakening her arms as she collapsed once more clumsily. She made another attempt, fluttering her eyes open. The green and red was bright beneath her as was the sun that stung the edges of her eyes forcing her to keep them down at the ground. She noticed blurred images around her as the rest of her senses became tuned. She was once again reminded where she was, to bad she already made the mistake of carelessly rising disarmed and unaware of who was paying attention.

Before she actually had herself half way up due to the burst of her regained energy, she felt a pressure other then her head throw her back down. This time it was resting on her back , and continued to physically push her into the ground as if the attempt was to bury her within it.

She yelped in pain like a kicked dog as her full on attempted scream was cut short by her lungs being crushed. She felt a few ribs crack as she was pushing herself up. Her arms and legs began to flail and her body dropped an inch to the floor as her breathing was completely cut off by the applied pressure. She saw another foot shift next to her head. With something to attempt to work with to get the pressure off of her, she grabbed for the foot, clumsily letting it slip. However, she felt something that sparked her to make another grab. With both hands, she reached for the ankle, grabbing a dagger with her right hand from within the boot. With it, she stabbed the back of the leg, causing whatever what was on her to falter back. With her body released from being pinned to the ground, she quickly rose and began to crawl as fast as she could like a awkward fawn occasionally tripping over it's own feet. She never found herself this defenseless until now with no idea in which direction her swords were in. She began to help herself up. No way was to die like a coward. If she were to go, it would be with her swords in hand. Not defenseless. This encouraged her to scout for her swords even more, if she were to die, she wasn't going to die like a fool. She became more focused and determined as before quickly searching while lifting her body up on her weakened legs. She stumbled a bit and hit the ground once more, but a few feet ahead of her now, was at least one. She found it quicker just to hurriedly crawl to it's resting place.

With her fingers inches away from it she yelped in pain again as a heavy foot supplied with a heavy boot stomped on her ankle, not only pinning it, but making it useless as the bone snapped in three. With her adrenaline pumping and frustration growing, she lifted her left leg and instinctively kicked, hitting the Saxon square in the groin. With him falling back dropping his sword, she quickly collected her legs and flipped herself around so she could see her attacker. She scooted back to get farther from the attacker and to draw closer to hear sword. With sword in hand, she lifted herself with both arms and balanced herself with her left leg. Putting her right down pained her, but it made her a bit more steady when standing. Finally, she saw the brute that has been causing her problems ever since she woke up. With one ready swing, when he stumbled forth still regaining his composure from his last blow, she swung her sword at his, knocking it out of his hand. He looked up agitated but with another thing coming. With his shield, he swung at her head knocking her in the side of it. She made her way to the ground in a turned angle, but instead of colliding to the floor once more, she was caught. She fell limp In whoever caught her and began to spit up blood as if she had enough. The person who held her tried their hardest to get her out of their arms before it was two late. With their support, it was a easy target to her side, which the Saxon took perfect advantage of while challenging his new opponent. With her limp and held up, he swiped his sword, slashing her side. Her energy was too low to submit a scream, instead she just slipped out of his arms, unceremoniously dropping.

Tristan did nothing to save her from hitting the ground. He took the sudden freedom as an advantage, as the Saxon didn't expect for him to quickly react after being tossed the burden of a body. As soon as she slipped, he released and bought up his sword, running it right across the Saxon's neck

The Saxon dropped his sword, and immeadietly fell to the ground. Tristan watched the body fall and then began to study his surroundings. He found time to look down at her without being attacked. Her heard her deep sighs as he watched her chest rise and fall, the rythmn becoming slower as her breath became weaker. He stared blankly and crouched down. With the back of his limp fingers, he lightly felt for her heart, careful to not allow the encounter to linger. He felt it's light beating.

"You will get through this. You're not _allowed_ to die" he whispered as he lifted her up. Her eyes half opened, and then fluttered back closed. She wasn't allowed to die.

Hmmm, what is Tristan thinking? Don't we all want to know? Well, we all know Tristan as a mysterious character, through legend and movie. It's what makes Tristan Tristan. If you're wondering what he's thinking in situations like this, don't worry. Use your imagination, but all will come to be seen. What he was thinking when he did something big, or said something, etc etc. You just have to sit tight and finish the series.

Please Review!


	7. The Missing and Taken

The constant fear they lived in for seven years of their young lives left them unsure of their future. But one reassurance from their mother, and all their nightmares were gone.

Most children lived like this. Not understanding why, but by instinct cowering behind their mothers while papa stood by the door with a sword. That was what it took for children to feel safe; the assurance that if anything got through that great wall, it would never get in the house because daddy and mommy are there on guard.

One family in particular, didn't have a papa to guard the door. Their family relied on mama, the wall and beyond that, the sarmatian knights. Never once had the knights failed their protection, not then or now when an army so vast and brutal stood at their villages doorstep. With their freedom, they chose to stay and fight for this the knights became their protectors at the door.

Although how all owing and appreciative this family was, never did they expect to actually personally thank one of them in the situation they found at hand, or at all really.

It was the evening that the victory was theirs, and the children were relieved and able to sleep, knowing that there were no monsters under the bed or behind that great big wall mama never said to go past. Tucked in bed and warm, they lay, listening to a tale about the Sarmatian knights that sounded familiar with the current day and previous events.

"And all came back, safe and sound, bringing back a light for tomorrow, and the days to come" Mama finished as her twins fell asleep to on of her many improvised stories.

Mama kissed both Addy and Aiden on their small foreheads as she moved away the candles from their beds to the table in the center of the one great room. In that great room, her two other children remained awake, but their time was not limited. They outgrew early bedtimes.

Evelyn was due to last only a few more minutes as she already lay in bed humming herself a tune that she had heard near the pub when a woman was singing it. She was on duty to serve tired half-drunken mend, both sarmatian and Roman. The song brought peace to her, as she was right at home, so it served to put her to sleep. She never experienced a part from home so it was abuse of the song's true meaning of the home of going home. She liked the melody and words, she didn't know of the sorrow it caused the others if they were near.

Apart from her who was so close to the destination of sleep due to her own lullaby, stood her seventeen year old brother, Ryker, awake at the window. Their two year difference had no reason behind hi delayed bed time. Since the death of their father, he became a diagnosed insomniac. Seven years of sleep was lost to thought. Constantly during the night was he up thinking as during the day. Both times were set up for solitude as he segregated himself to be left alone. During the day he was reserved to silence, and his mind was always somewhere else if not interested. When he would come home from building chairs and tables for those who needed or wanted them, he returned to his own chair he built and either moved it to the shadow in either of the four corners during the day to escape the sun, or near the window during the night to enjoy the natural darkness where the silence was as equally pleasing as the solitude outside. When asked what he was thinking, he never answered. He thought upon various things, as to why something happened, or how a person looked. When he spoke, the answers would be short unless he chose to share the words generated from the thoughts in his head which rarely occurred in varied outbursts of random or related topics.

"Not all of the knights returned you know" his voice smoothly ran the words forth from his mouth and did it in such a way to hardly be heard. It was distinctive to those who have heard it before, it mostly always went unnoticed to those who didn't even know his voice existed.

A mother knew better.

"How do you know?" mama asked not looking his way as she busied herself sewing in the candle light.

"I counted as they came in. They did no know he was missing. They expected him to be following , meaning they know he's alive" he explained, spilling forth the calculations of his observing from his head.

"How did you come up with this?" mama asked amused and proud at how much thought her boys always put into things.

"I thought about it" Ryker simply said, his tone was confident, despite the simplicity of the answer.

"How do you know he is not passed?" mama asked brining the consideration to the table.

"The commander would of announced it, if not, you would be able to tell from the knights' faces. They figured he was behind them. They probably realized that now he wasn't"

"Perhaps he is on his way to returning to Sarmatia. Maybe he gave them word and went" Mama pointed out.

This sent Ryker into more thought. Simple situations like this merely kept him amused where as there were those that he broke down in detail in his head.

It fell back to a comforting silence where the crickets sounded and the rustling of sheets was able to be heard as the sleepers shifted in their beds.

It was the type of quietness that if the door creaked, people would be alert, let alone it bursting open.

Evelyn and the twins woke up startled as Ryker shot up alert. Mama dropped her sewing as the yarn ball rolled all the way to the feet of the intruder who entered head down. He was taller than Ryker who too had been complaining in his head about the how low the door was.

Not only did the height make his entrance difficult, but also the width as the person carried something long and bent in his arms. It was a girl.

As the figured walked deeper into the house with no sign of turning back, the twins jumped out of their bed screaming and hiding behind their mother who instinctively went in front of them and her eldest daughter. Ryker, stubbornly resisted his mothers protections and instead wandered toward the figure.

"You're the one missing" Ryker discovered as Tristan moved into the candlelight "You're one of the Sarmatian knights!" Ryker let out in awe.

Mama released her grip on the twins shoulders as Evelyn slightly stepped forward squinting her eyes in disbelief.

"What brings you into my house?" Mama asked carefully.

Instead of speaking, Tristan instead uncovered Salome's bloodied and bruised body. It was evident enough in what he was seeking.

"Oh!" she cried as she ran forward grabbing the candle off of the table. "Come this way" she said as she did not hesitate to lead him through her home to the back room beyond the kitchen. It was a room used for storage, and coincidentally it stored an extra bed, clean sheets, fresh hay, premade candles, a basin and many wash cloths. The room was also supplied with fresh air as there was a window that looked out to the back property, where a personal water well sat. Her husband installed it for the family's use personally.

She quickly spread a sheet over the bed and moved to the side as Tristan came through to lay her down.

"Eve! Get a bucket of water!" Mama shouted as she readied the basin and cloths. "Why have you returned so late?" Mama turned to Tristan as he began taking out different sorted pouches.

Tristan did not answer. Instead he cursed the reason for his nearly fatal delay.

_(Flashback)_

_T__ristan quickly carried Salome to the wood, where he intended a clear discreet path that would lead him to the wall fast. When the forest ended and wall met he planned to wait there until his fellow knights filed into the village, where he would travel close to the wall and slip into the village unnoticed. The path wasn't as clear as he thought. In his way stood cowards, who wouldn't face a small army, but had no problem with bullying one. He remaining Saxons were huddled afraid, they knew it was their enemies forest, but when an unlikely loner sarmatian knight crossed their path, they decided to take advantage._

"_He can be used as a hostage" one suggested as they watched Tristan running through._

"_Why would we need one now? Let him be" the other said retreating back to his miserable hiding place._

"_His ransom could pay for a new army to come forth" the other more specifically pointed out._

_This got the other's attention. "Go find Smiroff and Elston"_

_Apparently Smiroff and Elston weren't far at all, and seemingly were thinking the same thing as they started problems with Tristan's rush._

_Tristan abruptly stopped as two Saxons cut him off. He subconsciously held Salome closer._

"_I am in no mood to fight. Let me pass. You have no reason to fight me"_

"_We're not going to fight you, we're going to kill you" Elston sneered._

"_Think more along the lines of use. Keep him alive" the other directed as he came up from behind Tristan._

_Tristan did not listen to what was being exchanged further on as he tuned in to study his surroundings._

_Two in front. Two in back. Sides open. Girl in arms...that he was holding unbelievably close. Tristan loosened his grip as he was ready to drop her during his newly formulated plan._

"_No one uses me"_

_With that he sprinted to his right where he had spotted a bust to put Salome behind. He placed her down as gently as possible, but that gentleness was as a warrior and would be considered quite gruff._

_With her out of his arms and the tree blocking the Saxon's view of both the bush and him, he was able to take down his first kill hidden .Behind the tree he waited until he heard one on his right proceeding to pass that fine line that Tristan created. This caused the Saxon a cut into the stomach that three him back with such force that it knocked down the companion behind him. Another was coming from the left, and in the same style he killed his second. He plunged his sword into the third's neck as he came out from behind the tree, and his fourth was no challenge as the others, where he plunged that deserter in the side and beheaded him as he fell._

_No one crosses that fine line...No one crossed that fine line. Tristan made sure of that, to bad they knew no better._

_Especially when Tristan was protecting something..._

_(End of Flashback)_

Tristan caught a glimpse of the blood on his hands in the candle light as it rinsed off. In preparation to clean her wounds. The blood turned the water red instantly and clung to the edge of the basin threatening to leave stains . He was used to the sight, but never had it been blood of someone he was trying to save. Not for the 15 years he was under Roman control. Not since...

Tristan began to cough as if his breath was knocked out of him. Mama and Evelyn immeadietly went to aide as Ryker sat back and observed. The coughing was triggered and it couldn't be from simple gore. Tristan bee around death for a decade and five years...

Tristan noticed the attention drawn to him and regained his composure. He remembered what his focus was now, what he was going to prevent, what he was going to save, what he was going to prove, what he was going to give.

It took a about a few hours, a few buckets of clean water from the well, sweat and exhaustion, eight blood drenched cloths, six clean clothes to either hold together broken bones or cover deep wounds along with the ultimate key of healing, patient and experienced hands. They popped bones back in place, tied bones in place, smeared with herbs to either disinfect or begin the heal processes, sewed together and finally covered with the finishing wrap that would protect and keep things how they were supposed to be.

By the end of it, Ryker was asleep against the wall as Evelyn was spread out at the table in the front room from one of her trips to bring the bucket of water to the storage room. The twins were back in their beds without their mother as she stood in the back room with sweat coming from her pores as her hair stuck to her face in exhaustion. Tristan was the only one who's features never showed exhaustion, he looked accustomed to the grueling work and late night.

"Is it okay that she hasn't awoken during any of this? The pain hadn't stirred her once in her sleep" Mama mentioned concerned.

"Be glad that she's asleep. She would of thrown a fit if she learned of what I was doing" Tristan admitted.

Mama looked at him with her head tilted as she didn't understand as to why the girl would be upset with him saving her. She rather thought this sarmatian knight did a rather good job in putting everything back in place.

"Be expecting a fever to fall upon her in the next few days. I will find medicines to cure it. Also be expectant of her not taking so warmly to all that we've done. For your hospitality or my healing." Tristan warned.

"She, she's staying here?" Mama asked, this was the first time such a idea came up.

Tristan shot a look that made her feel dumb for thinking any other way.

"For how long?" Mama asked.

"Until I dismiss her" Tristan replied shortly.

"Yes. Will you be taking care of her?"

"I will come by every night. Your work here is finished. Let me be" Tristan dismissed the owner of the house he was in.

Mama blinked, unsure of to go or not. She wasn't used to taking orders from another, but she stood up for it.

"They'll be calling for her. Searching, everywhere for their prized heroine. You are sworn to secrecy"

Mama didn't fully understand Tristan's request for her to keep this girl in her house a secret, but she of course agreed. She shuddered to think what would happened if she defied any of his orders. His very presence frightened her imagination if cross. Before Mama left, she left the candle on a shelf next to where Tristan sat.

Her flickered image was transfixed in his eyes. "Yes, they'll be calling for you"

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(In Woad Village)

**"Salome, onde é você? Onde está nosso herói perdido? Esta inoperante? Ou é feita exame? Salome, Salome, onde é você?"**

("Salome, Where are you? Where is our lost hero? Is she dead? Or is she taken? Salome, Salome, Where are you?")

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Where they find their Salome? Or will Tristan have his way? Whatever way it is.

Stay tuned.

&& Review please!!!!!!!!!!


	8. Spinning out of Control

**Salome, Salome, onde é você?**

**Salome, Salome, onde é você?**

**Salome, Salome, onde é você?**

(Salome, where are you?) 

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_"Eu estou aqui"_

_"Eu estou aqui"_

_"Eu estou aqui"_

"She's been speaking like that all morning" Ryker filled in Tristan as he stopped by in the morning as he did for the recent two days. Another visit was expected at night, where he just watched her for hours.

Three days passed and her speaking in her sleep now became the first sign of her being alive.

"What is she saying? Always it's half whispered..."

Tristan paused as he took in the sound. This was the first time, he ever heard her voice. It was the first time she ever spoke since...

"She's either dreaming or remembering. She will be awakening soon." Tristan confirmed. "You come get me when she wakes up-"

"But you'll be in the council-"

"Believe me, it will be excused if it's an emergency" Tristan reassured.

"But what if it's not?" Ryker continued to stubbornly question.

"Her being awake is an emergency in and of itself. Just fetch me"

Ryker bowed his head finally agreeing. Tristan trusted Ryker would follow his direction and left with no further pressing.

"Care for breakfast?" Mama called as Tristan merged from the backroom into the kitchen.

"No, not this morning" Tristan said frustrated.

Mama had a way for stuffing faces involuntarily.

"Dinner then?"

"Maybe" Tristan mumbled as he walked out.

It became a habit for him to come twice a day. The family expected it, and sometimes anticipatedly waited for his arrival, even if he just went straight to the back room. It was usually that the twins convinced his to stay through whining.

When he did stay for breakfast and dinner, he usually was silent unless the conversation pertained to the backroom or what dwelled in it. Tristan found himself constantly thinking about her and was most concerned at how she was coming along. He was still reminded of that purpose, of that reason and giving. It was the only thing that kept her alive.

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The sweat seeped from her pours as her body shivered. After each word escaped, she grew more and more distraught by shaking or jerking. Ryker patted her forehead of sweat with a clean cool cloth. He picked away the stray hairs that stuck to her face and stroked her hair back. He too found himself with cabin fever, as he didn't leave for three days. For three days straight, he busied himself with observing her behavior. He knew what she was. He was intrigued. A woad, British rebel. He looked at her in amazement as if she were another species. Her skin was still a bit stained blue as she hadn't had a proper bath, and the runes were still slightly visible. He noticed the band around her hips and ran his finger around it, wondering what the mark could mean. It was the only one that did not fade when cleaning the wounds. He began to set aside the differences between her, and the woman of his own kind. They had a different built, as they were more lean and toned. They were slightly smaller,either it be petite or tiny as if it were just lean muscle and bone. Salome had slight curves as he noticed through the outward curve from her waist to her hip, but no full curves like the villager women had spilling forth from their dresses. He noticed their bodies carried more scars, as he counted five total, faded on her abdomen. His sixth was one right above her belly button, a small round scar as if an arrow went in. The skin was newly healed. He then wondered upon the differences morally and in society. Where did Salome stand in her village? Was she married? Did the married fight in war? Ryker already knew they viewed their woman equally strong as them and capable to do the things men could, like fight for their freedom. Salome fought for their freedom, he was curious to know how many other times their cause almost cost her life. Ryker heard their views on death, they didn't fear it, he studied her closely. She didn't look like she feared it either. He found the woad culture, through her, to be more honorable than his own. More fearless, more brave. All of her nation's characteristics were in her as she was a proud woad warrior. All he had to do was look at her and think. But when he looked at her and thought, Tristan came to mind. He spent years being amazed at the Sarmatian knights, as they shared the same village at times, he knew how they felt against the woads. So why was he saving this one? Ryker found himself intent on this question the rest of the day. He thought up conclusions, scenarios, could he be in love with her, could they be related, could he want to hold her hostage afterwards, was she a slave...? Ryker didn't believe in anything. He knew he would have to ask Tristan, but the lone knight intimidated the curiosity right out of him.

He had no problem asking Salome anything when she woke up. She looked delicate enough.

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"**Salome, onde é você? Onde está nosso herói perdido? Esta inoperante? Ou é feita exame? Salome, Salome, onde é você?"**

("Salome, Where are you? Where is our lost hero? Is she dead? Or is she taken? Salome, Salome, Where are you?")

he villagers grew hopeless. Many of the women chanted that prayer of question hoping that it would be answered with her return.

"She has still not returned?" asked Guinivere upon her visit from the Roman Village.

"No returnal. No body. No sign of her existence." Merlin filled in. "We have lost one of our heroines. Not by death, but by disappearance. But no more talk of the missing, as our nation is new days. She will be remembered as a reminder of how we got here. Now, tell me child. What is it that brings you here to visit?"

"Well, I have came to announce to you, that Me and Arthur Castus will be wed. "

"What good news you have bought here today. A new alliance, Between Britons and Romans. Guinivere, you do know that Arthur as king is in favor of the Romans. Our people would be thrilled to have you as their Queen. They will support the marriage. After the reception, I will plan a coronation ceremony." Merlin said, losing himself in his own thoughts of politics. Britons daughter Married to a Roman son.

Guinivere left with no further to do in her village. Upon leaving,, she heard the fading prayers, and decided to put out one for her dear friend

.**"Salome, onde é você? Onde está nosso herói perdido? Esta inoperante? Ou é feita exame? Salome, Salome, onde é você?"**

("Salome, Where are you? Where is our lost hero? Is she dead? Or is she taken? Salome, Salome, Where are you?")

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_"Eu estou aqui_!" (I am here!) her voice raised as she became more restless. The constant words in her head bid her no peace or rest what so ever. She was passed on, she shouldn't of been bothered.

**Salome, onde é você? Onde está nosso herói perdido? Esta inoperante? Ou é feita exame? Salome, Salome, onde é você?**

The voice grew louder and louder, ringing in her ears over and over again. _"Eu estou aqui!"_ she began to shout. Why couldn't they hear her? Why wouldn't they leave her be? She was passed, no longer of this world, why were they able to still reach her so strongly?

Salome hadn't realized she was dead, and it were their prayers that stirred her in her sleep to awake, as she became more and more frustrated with the lack of peace.

"_EU ESTOU AQUI_!"she screamed at the top of her lungs, awaking herself into a upright position where she realized, there was still light. 

Perhaps it was the crossing into the afterlife she thought as she began to desperately rub her eyes, but then something surged her that no spirit would ever experience.

Pain.

Pain from her broken ribs. Pain from the gash in her side. Pain from her throbbing ankle and head. Pain of an emptiness inside.

_"Dor?! No., No. Eu estou inoperante, isto não sou suposto para estar aqui. Im suposto para não sentir nada. Talvez esta é punição? Minha última experimentação como um mortal? Nenhum No. que… este cant seja, este cant seja" _she muttered to herself, contemplating whether she was alive or dead.

Pain?! No, No. I'm dead, this isn't supposed to be here. Im supposed to feel nothing. Perhaps this is punishment? My last trial as a mortal? No no...this cant be, this cant be!)

Ryker, when she had awoken, immeadietly bolted out of the room without comforting her. He knew the rush it would be to get Tristan back here. The emergency rested in her voice, that constantly transmitted through the air to no one but herself, as she talked to herself, reasoning like a madwoman in her own language. It defiantly was an emergency.

_"Nenhum No. Mortos Im. Im passaram. Eu não tenho que viver vida anymore sozinho! Im feito com o que eu tive que fazer! Eu não devo estar aqui-"_she continued to reason with herself and the Gods that should of been able to hear her in the first place.

("No no. Im dead. Im passed. I don't have to live life anymore alone! Im done with what I had to do! I shouldn't be here!-" )

She shouldn't of been alive. She grew insane to even think her heart was still beating.

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"-You are all free men, and yet all of you decide to stay here?" Arthur said with great gratitude. Even thought commandeer of all six, he would miss their presence.

"Until you are married and crowned of course. No point in going back home and then returning" Gawain corrected as he took a drink from his facny gold goblet.

"Me and Vanora are staying within this bloody walls. Too many kids to carry all the way back to Sarmatia. Too much hassle" Bors complained.

"Not our faults" Gawain said laughing.

What started out to be a serious discussion of thanks and talk of goodbye became another casual conversation between brothers.

"I think ima find a wife here. Young and Pretty. Then bring her home to meet the parents" Galahad daydreamed.

"If your parents don't like her, im sure mine will" Lancelot smirked.

They were all in a comfort and relief that they were unable to find themselves in for ages. It was simple talk, that made them relax, and let the fact that they were free, sink in a bit more.

Ir was common for joles to come in with small announcements and interruptions, but this one Tristan payed attention to. At the sight of him, his grip on the table tightened as he was prepared to pull himself up from the chair. He watched closely as joles whispered in Arthur's ear his reason for intruding. Before Arthur could repeat the information given, Tristan was already up.

Arthur looked at Tristan in a peculiar manner.

"Good at eavesdropping or is it expected?" Arthur asked an eyebrow raised.

"It was half expected" Tristan admitted as he bowed his head in dismissal.

Tristan walked out with no further explanation. All the knights looked at him puzzled. Never before had he walked out of Arthur's councils. Perhaps it was the move of a free man, or a man who had something else on his mind.

"What was it?" Gawain asked.

"An Emergency Tristan was called for"

"People are Emergencies. Since when did Tristan worry about people?" Galahad commented.

Bors was once called out for when Vanora fell into labor. He had a family here, something the knights only had in Sarmatia. Gawain had nothing here, neither did Galahad, Dagonet or Lancelot. The only emergencies would be among them, their brothers, but they were with each other at the time. Never have there been a type of an emergency that called on of them out to aide for another cause, by themself in secret. Tristan, ironically In many ways, was the first.

"What is he up to?" Gawain muttered to himself as he thought upon these things.

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She felt it. She felt the rythmetic beating in th e center of her chest. She felt it inside and out as she held her hands to her chest.

She had involuntarily cheated death again. She was in no panic with the fear that death would hunt her down, she was in rage because death lost. It was a given opportunity for death to win and put her to rest, but was revoked as she won.

How? Why was she still here? They were more focused on the question of where she was and who was responsible. Tristan's face did not yet cross her mind as she couldn't remember anything.

She stopped her fret. The insanity left her head. She sat silently, breathing as a curse, but it calmed her to think logically. Fine, she was alive, she would take care of that after she found the answers to her existence.

This was the first time she noticed her surroundings and the state of panic a normal person would go through when the unrecognizing of their surroundings passed right by Salome. She sat upright, these thoughts numbly crossing her mind. She was fed up with Emotion and the calmness snapped in her. It was now up to instinct to lead her. Instinct, and then want.

Primary, to doing what she wanted, she had to leave her unknown settings, go to her village, settle down and think and search upon where she would go next. She had a rough idea from there.

As gently as she could she slid herself to the edge of the ed. She rolled her eyes annoyed at the pain within her abdomen. But when she felt the wound in her side stretched, she squinted her eyes and clenched her jaws, releasing no noise. She paused in place, and then prepared herself to balance on one foot. She was unprepared for the dizziness she would experience while getting upto quickly and lost her balance momentairily forgetting that her right foot was cureently disabled. Stepping on it, she made her first outer sign of pain. She yelped as she smacked on the groudn wehre she whimpered as the throbbing and stining did no cease. She layed in her misery as she controlled her breathing to sooth the pressure put on certain wounds. She seriously thought about getting up, but when her head rose, her boy froze. In front of her stood a pair of boots.

She found herself looking up at him for the fifth time. Again, he was responsible for spoiling her path.

"You Demon" she spoke in perfect English.

Tristan found himself a bit taken aback, not at the insult, there were more expected on the way, as well as hitting and shouting, but at her voice. The cruel words of hatred it spoke were no match for it alone. It was the tone and emphases she placed on it that put her message across, but no her voice alone. It did not come out as acid, it were just the words that carried the poison.

Tristan didn't think furthermore upon it. He placed the expectation to hear how she sounded in a simple conversation or when speaking to someone she cared for...

He always set expectations that fate worked against.

"Is that what your kind call people that spared you?" Tristan said, aware of the rage it would set within her, but still found it slithering out before he could catch his tongue. It was what he was used to, lemon soaked words, icy words, and when they were used against him, he couldn't help but retort.

In retorting as bitter or cold usually far worse than used against him, it stopped the process of what was used against him, actually influencing emotion negative or positive. His smart tongue was always ready to leash if someone's words were trying to get to him. It always protected him from getting hurt as he learned fro a young age. If he had no retort an remained silent, it meant the other's words completely had no impact on him.

Already, Salome was getting to him. Perhaps it was her choosing of words to use that hit hard and them as a boomerang right back at her, where they would get her even harder. They began themselves a cycle, a relationship formed as demon and intolerable fool.

The intolerable fool lost her nerve and concentration, the death of her if her and Tristan were fighting sword to sword. Not that she would mind. Tristan would as it was absolutely no challenge. He doesn't put those easy to kill to death , which was why he didn't just snap her neck this time like he liked to imagine. A easy kill wasn't the reason he spared her before though, it was more deeper of a reason and cause.

Salome knew from before that there would be a dagger in his boot. She snatched it without question and drove it into his foot. It was the fact that it only penetrated the tip and completely missed his foot that drove him to loose his patience.

Tristan pulled out the blade form his boot and with the dagger in his hand, he returned the favor by driving it in her hand.

Salome gasped as it landed right between her fingers and yanked her hand back. She looked up at him smirking. He was pleased with himself.

"Consider me a Demon of Mercy"

"_Mercê?"_she argued in her own language as she gathered herself up in a sitting position.

"_Você pensa que esta é mercê?"_ she repeated stalling him as she slowly got up.

"_Você pensa que esta é mercê?"_ she said once more exasperated. Her body was weak. She stood up balancing herself as best she cold while she caught the breath she had lost.

"You know no mercy" she said after her collection and threw herself at him, ready to throw him down.

Tristan knew she was weak. Salome even knew it, and her constant failing attempts were getting on his last nerve.

She let out a scream of frustration and pain as he gripped her arms and punished her to the bed, where she fell back against. To cease her flailing an kicking, he pushed himself on top of her as well, using his body weight as a sedative.

Salome kept up her fighting and screaming for a good while until her weakness gave her in.

"Just cooperate and I'll answer the question as to why I didn't run my blade across you that day. I kept you alive to hear it" Tristan confirmed.

And then Salome asked the question before her body gave out from lack of air and energy.

"Why did you spare me?" she let out lightly as one tear fell.

Her body went limp under him and he waited a moment before he got off. While waiting to see if she would spring back to life, he studied her face. She was peaceful when she slept. When she was awake it were as if she were in constant pain, despite the physical inflicted wounds. He was starting to notice through her rage and tears, that internally she was hurting too.

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(Call it curiosity, but some questions came to mind. There were answers he wanted from people, there were the type that caught his interest. He would watch and listen, to see what she reveals. He understood that a person could hate life, but there always was a reason.

Tristan set himself apart from that category a long time ago. He found the way out through death as a weakness. HE could endure fate, even if he didn't have all of the twists in his favor.

And with this girl, something told him he was meant for more than an easy way out through death. Some call it cruelty for not allowing her to pass, others call it mercy, but he called it teaching.

Teaching what to do and how to handle when easy ways out are dead ends.

Tristan knew better. Life was a winding rode, but in the end, something worth would come out of it, and death wouldn't be unable to leave or begging, but passing through ease and memory.

It was a lesson Tristan learned himself a fifteen. And it wasn't from his mother directly,. It took her death fro him to teach himself a lesson that stood in front of every human's face, that chose to see it. He chose to see it, as Salome would when she was taught to see it. She was lucky enough to not witness it through another's death. She would heave more control and participating since it as her own death discussed.

He disregarded her past and dint think of the crutch it could be. She wasn't unappreciative of the life around her, she just had none. She only experienced death and it was misinterpreted to be attractive from far away as life's gifts were too unreachable.

Tristan would have to understand her first to successfully get her to see. She would have to understand his intention to successfully see. It was known but couldn't be done. Could Tristan care enough about a person to understand?)

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AUTHORS NOTE:

A lot of things have been introduced that I thought to , you know, discus, not to leave you in the open. Yes, the fateful answer to why Tristan spared her Is unfolding. It will be through his dialogue that the main reason is sealed in the next few chapters when explaining to Salome.

With that out, the end of the story will not come. There's the aftermath of being spared, what will Salome do with her life, will it be anew? We also have to take Tristan into account, what will become of him, what will become of the two, and what will become of them and the family? The family will have a further role in this.

Once she is answered the maid theme is still rolling to the end, as other themes will be tie4d in as well as other plotlines. It all counts to the end.

Think of it this way, there is Tristan's answer, which is only the peakpoint, and then there's actually living his answer through the story. This will add more.

So is an end coming? Oh, of course not, we just begun!

Have some things you would like to see happen? Any suggestions? Feel free.

&& Pretty Pretty Please Review!!!!


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